It's All Been Done
by Nehszriah
Summary: Clara has never traveled with the Doctor, but she keeps on meeting the same man in her dreams. They keep on colliding across time and space and dream until they finally meet in real life, or has Clara just finally gone insane? [taken from a prompt request on tumblr]


A/N: Taken from a tumblr prompt when I had open submissions for a few hours. AU where Clara never travels with the Doctor, yet she still meets him across time and space.

* * *

><p><span>It's All Been Done<span>

He's talking to another man, she noticed, as they stood there in the middle of the busy Roman marketplace. They could be brothers, the elder and the younger, but she's only really seen the one before. His eyes are watery blue as they poke out from underneath his bushy grey brows and study her.

"What do you want?" he asked. "We're busy."

"I'm sorry," she said. "It's just… I feel like I've met you before."

"I don't know about my brother, but possibly you've had dealings with me, young miss?" the younger man said, sticking out his hand. "Caecilius; I deal in marble."

"No… it was definitely him," she replied. Clara narrowed her eyes and looked at the older man. "Are _you_ in the marble business as well?"

"Medicine," was the terse response. She opened her mouth to inquire further when the ground shook, throwing her tiny frame into his lithe one. His arms wrapped around her automatically, but he held her with his wrists to avoid an inappropriate touch.

"Oh no! Vesuvius!" Caecilius gasped. Clara looked in the direction he was pointing in. Yes, that was definitely a mountain that was erupting.

"Come on, let's go," the medical man said. He grabbed her hand and started to run awkwardly. She glanced back over her shoulder at the volcano, erupting in a low, rumbling… shrill screech?

"Come on, let's go," Danny repeated as Clara finally woke up. She reached across the mattress and shut the alarm clock off, unable to move too terribly far thanks to the pair of arms wound around her waist. Shifting around to face her boyfriend, Clara kissed him hazily.

"I just started a new dream too," she chuckled. An unintelligible murmur got caught in his chest and died before it reached his throat, good-morning kisses preferred to words.

The dream was easily forgotten.

* * *

><p>"Ah, an import, like me," Clara grinned. She wiped the bar down and put a glass of water on the lacquered surface for the newcomer, whose accent dripped of Glasgow and hair was the color of the silver found in the hills. All black, white collar as stiff as his shoulders—he nearly screamed "man of God" as he put his hat and bag down and sat at the bar.<p>

"Not exactly from the same area, but the same island works," he nodded. "I just got in on the last train—mind telling me the direction of the church meeting house?"

"Head north on the main road and it's a two mile walk towards the hills," she replied. Clara bent down to grab a bucket from underneath the bar and felt the man's eyes stay locked on her. She stood upright and frowned. "Watch it; I don't want any more beef with the Man Upstairs than I already have."

"Church of Scotland," he chuckled. "My bride is not a pulpit and marriage is no sacrament. I thought the accent would have given it away."

"You'd be surprised," she deadpanned. "Where is your bride? Is she coming later, once you get settled?"

"Maybe… if she exists," he shrugged. "I've been busy enough without having found her."

Clara arched an eyebrow expertly. "Preaching Hell and Damnation is tiring work? Never would have thought."

"They're called _doctorates_, Miss, and it's all very busy work yes." He finished off his water and put the glass down.

"What are you a doctor of?"

"Oh, this and that," the man said. He put his hat back on and stood up, tipping the brim. "I must be off now. Stop on by for some tea, if you have the time."

"People will talk," she grinned. "Besides, coffee is the drink around here."

"Whichever you prefer," he replied, the corner of his mouth twisting up in a smirk. He picked up his bag and left the saloon. Clara found herself alone, the only other soul in the establishment being a man dozing in the corner. His snores gradually became louder and louder until finally she couldn't take it anymore.

"Stop your snoring," she demanded. The sleeping man kept on. Storming over to his side, she settled her fists on her hips, leaned forward, and repeated, "Stop your snoring."

With a snort and a grumble, a dead-asleep Danny let go of Clara and rolled over, waking her up with his movement. She craned her neck and looked in the direction of the television set—the DVD menu for some Western film was on the screen, looping incessantly. She reached for the remote and switched it off, basking in the newfound silence she found herself in. Settling on her side, Clara slid her arm around Danny's waist and pressed her nose and forehead against his broad back. His presence was a comfort, easing her towards sleep again where she dreamt of nothing but Christmases and field trips.

* * *

><p>"Why isn't your chest always cold?"<p>

Clara glanced up from magazine she was reading in the spaceport café and saw her waiter standing there with her order—a cup of coffee and a basket of chips. He put them down in front of her and sat in the opposite chair.

"Why did you ask me that?" she wondered.

"I never understood why ladies' things always get cut down so low," he replied, gesturing at her chest. "I mean, there's rarely anything on your chests, so there's nothing really to show, so why show it? Doesn't it get cold after a while?"

"That's what scarves and jumpers are for," she shrugged. "Shouldn't you be working?"

"I don't know where you're from, but here it's two-thirty in the morning," the man said. Clara looked around; it was true. There was no one within eyeshot but them and some service bots.

"To whom do I owe the pleasure?" she asked, pushing the chips towards him. He took one and chewed on it idly.

"The Doctor," he said.

"What are you a doctor of?"

"Too much and not enough, just as any doctor is." He looked at the nebula out the window and nodded to himself. "Now there you wouldn't get cold," he said, pointing with his not-chip-holding fingers. "There's a planet in there—Vihta—that's a literal sauna across the entire surface."

"How would you know? You're just a waiter in a late-night café," she smirked. The Doctor raised his eyebrows and tilted his head almost mockingly.

"I have a space ship, if I change my coat," he claimed. Clara laughed into her coffee.

"You? A space ship? Never."

"Look at that: my shift is over. Would you like to see?" He took off his jacket and draped it across the back of the chair, revealing a jumper so riddled with holes that it only could have been on-purpose. "What do you say? Come with me?"

Clara stared at the stranger's outstretched hand, indecisive on what she should do. A split second later she made her decision, placing her hand in his and grinning broadly. "Where to?"

"Bath."

"Yes, a sauna is a bath, but _which_ sauna," she insisted.

"No, Clara, _Bath_." Danny gently shook her shoulder and brought her back to the land of the living. She shifted on the mattress, propping up her head on her hand as she jammed her elbow into a pillow.

"What…?" she asked blearily. He showed her his laptop computer, a tourism website splashed across the screen.

"I was thinking we could go to Bath for our holiday," he repeated. "Jane Austen lived in Bath, right?"

"Jane Austen _hated_ Bath, but I appreciate the thought," she giggled. Danny closed the computer lid and placed the device under the bed, freeing his lap for Clara to roll into as he slid down to his back. They kissed and whispered sweet things as they fell asleep in each other's arms, not knowing that they'd never even get the chance to take that holiday.

* * *

><p>The first night she goes to bed without Danny is the first of many she spends dreamless.<p>

* * *

><p>"I'll see you next week, Clara. Take care," the therapist smiled. She always smiles, Clara has noticed. Sometimes she likes it and nearly finds it reassuring. Other times, like today, it feels mechanical and trite.<p>

"Thanks; I will." She stood and shook her hand before leaving. It had been another session of _don't blame yourself_ this and _you can't change the past_ that. Therapy had worked at first, easing her back to life in the months after Danny's end, but now it felt she was stagnating. Some people were recommending that she see a different therapist, others said to soldier on or end the sessions entirely; her stepmum even had the nerve to suggest for her to "get a new boyfriend already—preferably one that knows how to cross a street properly". For that she didn't even _answer_ her dad's invitation to Christmas dinner and they were closing in on half a year of non-speaking terms.

Clara exited the building and went about her normal post-session routine. She posted a letter to her gran, took a quick walk around a park, and picked up a couple bits and bobs at Tesco. With her flat in sight, she was nearly home free when it hit her mid-stride. She stepped back onto the pavement and breathed heavily as her chest constricted and her voice all but left her.

_She couldn't cross the street._

It was embarrassing, it truly was. She had been nowhere around the accident, so she had no reason to have developed such a fear, but it had developed anyways. It had once been bad enough to where she could barely walk around the block. Now it was only here and there attacks of panic and immobilization. Infrequent as they were, she still planned twenty extra minutes into things because of it.

"Are you alright?" a voice asked, kind despite an abrasive accent. She nodded, not looking up at the speaker and concentrating on the vehicle-less tarmac.

"Y-yes… I mean, no… I mean… I will be once I get home."

"Where is home?"

She pointed forward, towards her flat. "Across the way, past the park, the one with the red door."

"…and what is keeping you from home, if it's just down the way and past the park and the one with the red door?"

"You don't need to know," she snapped. Clara stared at the path she needed to take to get home, chewing on her thumbnail. Maybe, if she ran she could do it. No, not running. Closing her eyes? No, that would be worse. She was so lost in thought that she did not realize the Tesco bag had slipped off her arm until a long-fingered hand wrapped around her elbow. She looked up to see a familiar man, silver-haired and pale-eyed and tall and gangly, peering down at her over his nose.

"How about we do this together, yeah?" he asked. He let go of her elbow and offered his arm in silence. Clara hesitated, but cautiously accepted and held on to the man's arm with both hands. They walked across the street together steadily, the only sound between them being the rustling of her shopping in the man's other hand. They reached the pavement, then the lawn, and Clara felt as if she could breathe again.

"Thank you," she said. "I know it seems silly, but I appreciated that."

"Anything to mix up the old scout tradition of helping small ladies cross the street," he smirked, flashing teeth. He arched his brows and looked at Clara and her flat and back again. "There's still another strip of tarmac, so how about I see you to that red door of yours?"

"I guess it couldn't hurt," Clara began, "as long as I know the name of my rescuer."

"I'm no saint or shining knight, but you can call me the Doctor," he replied. They began to walk again, slowly, more of a meander really.

"I'm Clara—maybe that's how I know you. I've seen a number of doctors the past year and, well, you seem familiar somehow."

"Oh, not me," the Doctor chuckled. "I'm not medical, but I have been told I have one of those faces. It's the kind that goes well with movies about Ancient Rome, or some lurid flick set in the American West."

"R-Really…?" she asked. Clara kept her eyes down as they went wide with realization. She had _dreamed_ this man, back before it all. Was he really there, or had she not made it across the street and was currently hallucinating in the ambulance? Was Danny going to be waiting for her when she arrived home? Had she _died_?

"You have one of those faces too," he continued. "I can't place it, but I know you from somewhere."

"Maybe I look like I belong in the movies too," she laughed nervously. "Maybe as a Victorian governess or a paranormal investigator…"

The Doctor fell silent as they continued across the park. Clara glanced up at him and saw that a look of horror had crossed his face. He tilted his face and met her eyes, knowing and understanding and terrified at once.

"…or a café in space," they said in unison. The Doctor stopped walking and held out the Tesco bag.

"Here's your stop," he said quietly. Clara looked up and saw that yes, that was her flat they were standing in front of. That was her door and her cat lounging in the window. They had crossed the second street and she hadn't even realized it.

"Would you like some tea?" she asked. "I think… I think I should ask you in for tea."

"I'd be delighted."


End file.
